


Aquaphobia

by alifeasvivid



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drowning, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alifeasvivid/pseuds/alifeasvivid
Summary: America plays a prank he shouldn’t have. England tells him the harrowing story of why he never learned to swim.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Aquaphobia

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an anon I got on tumblr forever ago and a history book I've been listening to.

“Aw, come on, England, it was just a joke,” America calls out from glistening blue pool.

England is furious and ashamed as he hoists himself out of the pool from a depth shallow enough that he could stand. He turns and glares fiercely at America who recoils like a kicked puppy and damn him for being that cute. England turns away and stomps resolutely over toward the lounge chairs they had saved.

America hops out of the water with enviable ease and approaches England cautiously. He’d messed up, hadn’t he? England had been floating lazily, contentedly on an inflatable pool raft—a rare moment of actually enjoying the sunshine in southern California—and America had gone and wrecked it by yanking the raft out from under England. The older nation had flailed and grasped at him helplessly and what America had thought would be a fun prank ended with him having to glimpse wild, primal fear in England’s eyes and incur fury in his voice. But surely the nation who had conquered the seven seas couldn’t… couldn’t _really_ not know how to swim.

America stands penitently before England, who sits on the chair, under the umbrella, toweling off his tawny blond hair.

England’s ire evaporates on the hot cement beneath his feet and he looks up at his lover—his much younger lover if he really thinks about it, which he normally tries not to do. America is grown, of course, but his existence is still a blip in the grand scheme of things, isn’t it? He hasn’t faced the trials England himself has faced. America faces his own tests. It’s not fair to fault him for it. “Sit down, love,” he says, inhaling deeply. “It’s not really your doing, is it? I could learn if I tried. It’s just…”

America sits down next to England on the lounge chair, resting his head on England’s shoulder, reassured when England’s hand reaches up and ruffles his hair. He takes England’s hand and kisses his palm. “It’s just..?”

England sighs again. “It’s a… long story. A rather unbelievable one at that.”

America laughs, something deep in his heart stirring at the prospect of England telling a story. “All your stories are like that. That’s why they’re the best.”

England chuckles. “I suppose. They’re all true, you know.”

America grins. “Sure they are.”

“Well, this one is.” England raises his eyebrow as America reclines behind him on the chair, settling in with that same eager look in his eyes he always has when England is about to tell a tale. “It was back in… oh, I don’t know… the early 1500’s? Spain was being a proper arsehole and Lizzy was alive so it must have been then. I was acting as a privateer at the time and—”

“A pirate,” America interjects with a teasing twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Oi, do you want to tell the story? I was never a pirate.” England fires back, smirking. “In any case, we were bound for Barbados, chasing a Spanish cargo ship and we were at open sea, no land in any direction for miles and miles when the sea churned up a great storm…”

“Raise the sails!” Captain Kirkland hollers, heard despite the wind and water raging around the suddenly insignificant ship, but only due to his true otherworldly nature. Appraising the ship as he leaps along the soaking deck, he knows almost immediately, instinctively that the ship won’t make it. The sea clearly intends to claim it and he knows well enough she won’t be denied anything.

The sails cannot be raised because the mast is cracked in half, so the flap uselessly in tatters. They must have hit something because men are screaming about taking on water. The pit of Kirkland’s stomach drops. He’s sailed many times, but he’s never lost a ship before.

The storm roars and howls with a kind of hunger, a god demanding a sacrifice. It’s cold, spiteful comfort that the Spanish ship is probably caught in this gale as well.

“To the lifeboats, lads!” he bellows. The ship itself is a forgone conclusion. Any that don’t make it will die. Even those that do make it will die if the storm doesn’t stop. Many sailors refuse to learn how to swim because it only makes drowning take that much longer and the sea will take them either way. Best not to prolong the inevitable.

Except he is not merely a sailor, not merely Captain Arthur Kirkland. He is England itself and his death is not nearly so inevitable. But he does not know how to swim either.

The hurricane swells and swallows his men, swallows his ship even as he clings to it.

As the storm dies and the sea calms, England bobs and flails on the surface of the water. What will happen if he goes under? he thinks as saltwater splashes in his face, down his throat. He cannot die, but he can sink, surely. No one is nearby. No one knows what has happened. The ocean is endless and untamable and has claimed many lives, leaving no trace.

An unparalleled terror floods through him and sends more fits of thrashing through his limbs. _Help!_ he cries, but the words don’t come out of his mouth. _Help! Help me, please! I can’t swim!_ England had determined so long ago that he would never be small, never be weak again. But he had known the risk when he started. _Please!_ He doesn’t even know how to stay afloat and his beloved red coat, his sturdy leather boots, his trusty pistol, and his saber only serve to weigh him down.

A wretched, cloying ache seeps out of his bones or into them, he can’t tell, and makes his body feel all the heavier. The sea will take what she wants, he knows this well enough. But what use could the sea have for him? He flounders against the water, even as it grows ever more calm, as if the storm never happened, as if to tell him that even his existence can be swept away with no trace just as easily.

_Help!_

The sea had enticed him, fascinated him, embraced him, and now she’ll claim him.

England’s boots are full of water. His mouth is full of water. His lungs and stomach are full of water. His heart is strangely still. At peace. Eyes as green as the pastures of the English countryside slide shut and his stubborn sun-blond head slips under the waves. _Please… I can’t swim…_

The saltwater suspends everything. He’s still conscious, paralyzed, and afraid, but there’s some slight relief in being completely out of control, in the futility of trying. He isn’t dying from the lack of air, but it’s painful still, like his chest is being crushed. He opens his eyes, glass green like the waters along his own coast.

They widen as he sees a dark shadow moving toward him. God, will he be eaten alive as well?

The shadow separates into two creatures: the first is the largest animal England has ever seen, land or sea… a whale no less than a leviathan, yet it seems gentle and does not bare teeth. The second creature is much smaller, but perhaps even more strange. England is immediately reminded of some of the more supernatural creatures with which he is more familiar. The thing has the head and torso of something vaguely human-ish, but the tail of a large fish with beautiful gleaming scales and fins… a mermaid.

The mermaid smiles sympathetically at him, though it’s a little unnerving with its sharp teeth. It wraps its England and then uses its tail to rocket them both to the surface.

England hadn’t realized how far down he’d sunk… nor how far he’d apparently traveled—a surely impossible distance, because the mermaid deposits him on a bank of rock and sand. He vomits up sea water immediately and collapses onto the wet sand. When his vision clears and his sense comes back to him, he looks around. They must be in the New World somewhere for it looks nothing like anything else he’s ever seen, but it doesn’t have any hint of Spain’s presence. It’s peaceful, green as the shore gives way to land, and beautiful, if very hot and humid.

He coughs up the last of the water. “Where are we?” he asks the mermaid hoarsely, who observes him from a few feet or so.

It’s only then he realizes he is shaking: the terror still thrums under his skin.

The mermaid tilts her head. Virginia, is the word that comes drifting through England’s mind, but it doesn’t mean anything to him—not in this context.

“The… the New World?”

The mermaid looks confused. It’s old, is the gist of the reaction.

England sighs. “Do you know where I come from?” he tries.

Visions of London, of the Thames, of the countryside, of home fill his mind. The mermaid points to the whale and suddenly England sees images of Barbados and docks and a ship instead.

England nods. “Thank you. Thank you,” he says, falling back onto the sand. “Thank you.”

America rubs his hand up and down England’s spine. “That is a pretty crazy story.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

America sits up and wraps his arms around England, once again leaning his head on the older nation’s shoulder. “I do believe you. It’s nuts that you ended up in Virginia before it was Virginia, huh?”

England smiles and kisses the top of America’s head. “That’s one word for it.”

“Fate’s another one.”

England hums. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

America pulls back and looks at England. “So… after that, why wouldn’t you want to learn to swim?”

England’s eyes drift toward his hands in his lap. “After I got home… I—I couldn’t bring myself to try and then the next time I boarded a ship, everything went fine… and every time after that as well, so. I suppose I’ve let the fear sit there and fester in my brain and… I know it’s silly.”

America grasps England’s hand. “It’s not silly. But if you want to learn… I could teach you. I’m really good at it. No funny stuff, I promise.”

England scans the earnest expression on America’s face and laughs. He’s young, yes, but not without lessons to teach. “Oh alright, if you’ll help me, I’ll give a try.”

“Awesome! You wanna start now or wait?”

England stands up and stretches slightly. No time like the present lest he lose his motivation. “Clearly, I’ve put it off far too long. Let’s start now. ”


End file.
